Sunday Favorites: Supernatural Secrets

Of all the tales of ghostly happenings around the area, nothing is more frightening than  "The Drummer's Curse" that plagued Palmetto in 1888. Here's the story. 

A salesman known only as “The Drummer” disembarked from a steamship in Palmetto, one sweltering and sticky afternoon in 1888. He walked down the wharf toward town, navigating his way through the bustling streets. Just as he reached  James A. Howze’s general store to settle an order, he staggered, a wave of dizziness washing over him before he reached the door.

Howze sensed something was off about “The Drummer” right away. He was dabbling his forehead and his face was flushed far beyond a sunburn from even the hottest summer day. Concerned, Howze urged him to rest at a boarding house. At the time, Howze didn’t realize he  had welcomed death into his midst, turning the home into a breeding ground for an unseen terror—a disease older than the town itself.

Yellow Fever Cemetery

Before the late 1880s, Palmetto was seen as a healing ground, much like other locations throughout the state, where the warm air and lush vegetation offered respite for ailments that plagued bustling cities. Very few of the early white pioneers had succumbed to illness—so few that an official cemetery had yet to be established. But on that fateful summer day, everything shifted; a deadly shadow descended upon the small coastal village, forever altering its destiny.

The Drummer’s fate remains a mystery. One historical account claims he died in Palmetto, while another insists he caught a boat back to Tampa that very afternoon, only for news of this death to later reach the townspeople. Despite the discrepancy, Yellow Fever swept through the Howze household, then mercilessly spread to the rest of the town. Circling vultures soon became a grim sign of families who had been wiped out. There were no doctors, no cures, and no answers. Neighbors burned the bedding of the dead and bonfires lit the night sky, according to  “Palmetto Hit by a Great Yellow Fever Epidemic” by Sharyn M. E. Thompson

Death was swift and brutal. The fever gripped its victims in three chilling stages. First, an unrelenting fever had them burning from within. Then, they developed a sickly yellow pallor and a crippling weakness. Those who were truly unfortunate found themselves lost in a nightmare, trapped between reality and delirium, their bodies trembling in pain.

People tried to protect themselves however they could—stuffing garlic in their shoes, pressing vinegar-soaked handkerchiefs to their faces, and drenching their bedding in camphor. Homes were often fumigated with burning sulfur, the acrid smoke meant to ward off a terror they couldn’t see but feared was creeping closer with every breath, according to Thompson. 

Palmetto was not prepared for the onslaught. The town’s only burying ground  had seen so few deaths that no proper path led to it. As coffins piled up, a trail was carved through the wilds, just wide enough for a single casket to pass through at a time, winding its way to what would soon be known as the Yellow Fever Cemetery, now located at 510 14th St. W. 

Dr. John Pelot was summoned from Manatee Village and arrived on horseback. Looking for answers, Pelot decided to perform an autopsy on a young girl to try to better understand the disease. But even as he worked, dissecting the small body on sawhorses in a field, he was not alone. From across the street, six-year-old Olive Courter watched from her window, wide-eyed and terrified at what was to become of her family. Years later, Olive would recount this trauma to the Manatee County Historical Society as if it had happened yesterday. 

As the fever raged on, more help arrived. Dr. Joseph Porter  was a man of few words who seemed to command death itself. Dressed in a long black slicker, he arrived at the Harllee residence during a downpour. Never stepping foot inside, he summoned Mrs. Harllee to the window and blatantly told her she was infected, even though she was nine months pregnant. Her son,  Peter S. Junior Harllee, was born with yellow fever coursing through his veins but lived.The fever continued its march, and the town’s once-warm sunshine became a curse, intensifying the sickness in those it touched.

As summer gave way to fall, the fever finally loosened its grip. Cold weather drove it away, but not before it had claimed its share of lives. The Yellow Fever Cemetery was full, and though the fever never returned, its shadow never truly left Palmetto. 

Olive Courter, who survived the fever along with her brother, never forgot what she had seen. People claimed to see the ghosts of the dead, their fevered eyes still bloodshot, standing in the flickering light of those long-extinguished bonfires.

To this day, they say that if you walk the trail to the Yellow Fever Cemetery at night, you might hear the faint ringing of a steamboat’s bell— the Drummer returning to Palmetto, cursed to forever wander the town where he brought death with him. Those brave enough to venture there claim they feel a feverish heat in the air, and some swear they’ve seen a man in a black slicker, watching them from the shadows.